At Peace
by Rising Waters
Summary: Elizabeth has been faithful for the allotted ten years, so Will is free of the Dutchman—but he is still plagued by thoughts of a man whose death he feels responsible for: James Norrington.  Oneshot, WE, JNE onesided.  Major AWE spoilers.


**Disclaimer**: I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean.

**A.N.:** My first story posted here, so constructive criticism is needed. As I said in the summary, this is not intended in any way to be James/Will slash. I believe that Will, being the decent person he is, would feel tremendous guilt for many of the things he did in DMC and AWE. This ficlet focuses mostly on his guilt stemming from Norrington's death, because I am very biased and love James more than any of the other characters.

**Summary**: Elizabeth has been faithful for the allotted ten years, so Will is free of the Dutchman—but he is still plagued by thoughts of a man whose death he feels responsible for: James Norrington. Oneshot, W/E, JN/E (onesided). Major AWE spoilers.

**At Peace**

For ten years, Will Turner—Captain Will Turner (he had never really gotten used to the title)—had thought of his wife every day. He would stare out across the ocean, wondering if she loved him enough to wait, wondering how she would survive. He knew all too well that she could, and would, make do without him, but he did not know if she could resist the idea of freedom. She had always been untamable, and as much as he tried, he could not imagine her waiting patiently for him, being a wife and perhaps a mother, when she had once been a captain, a pirate lord, king of the Brethren Court. He knew she loved him, but he also knew that she loved the sea, loved adventure, loved freedom. Part of him had wanted her to be gone when he returned—yes, he would be doomed to sail the seas forever, but she would be happy. And he had thought perhaps, if she was no longer tied to him, the guilt would go away.

The guilt, and Elizabeth, had haunted him every day. They had become so entwined that he almost dreaded seeing her, seeing in her face the pain he had caused, and feeling that his arms around her were not comfort but chains. He was afraid that she would resent him. And he was afraid that if she did, everything he had done would have been for nothing.

Everything he had done.

Even now, Will did not know who the 'he' was. Was it Will himself? Or was it the man who haunted Will's thoughts almost as much as Elizabeth? Will had said once that he would die for her—but he had not. Someone else had loved her, and someone else had died for her. And when Will returned home, where Elizabeth had waited for him— _she had waited!— _he found that his son bore the name of that man. James.

Even now, safe at home, in bed with his arms (no longer chains) wrapped around her, he still had the nightmares. He imagined the death of James Norrington a thousand times, and every time, he knew it was his fault. The words Jack had spoken once—provokingly, in anger, but true all the same—came back to him every night:

"Who was it that, at the very moment you had a notorious pirate safely behind bars, saw fit to free said pirate and take your dearly beloved all to hisself, eh? So whose fault is it really that you've ended up a rum-pot deckhand what takes orders from pirates?" 

Will had not seen the look on Norrington's face, but he could imagine it. And remembering how the man had once been, it was terrible. Because Jack was right. And the worst of it was that Will knew, if he could do it over again, he'd do the same thing. Because Elizabeth meant more to him than James Norrington—but James Norrington haunted him long after Elizabeth stopped. And Will knew that if Elizabeth had married Norrington, all three of them—Will, Elizabeth, and James—would have regretted it bitterly. But still, Will thought, there must have been a way for James to be happy.

It was difficult—the memories came from a lifetime ago—but Will could remember when James _had_ been happy. He remembered seeing Captain Norrington, and hating him for his fine clothes, his money, his title, his reputation as the Scourge of Piracy, the fact that, of course, he would one day marry the governor's daughter. He hated him, but he longed to be him. Will could remember the day when everything had started, when Jack had first arrived at Port Royale. Will had known that the day was marked by Norrington's promotion to Commodore, but he had only found out later that Norrington had proposed to Elizabeth. He had wanted to laugh when Elizabeth told him of the stilted, repressed language the Commodore had used, how formal and impassionate he had been. But Will could not laugh. Will had heard not only of the proposal, but how the Commodore had prepared to dive off the fort walls to save the woman he loved—yes, Will had long ago admitted to himself, Norrington loved—had loved—Elizabeth. And both the promotion and the proposal had been marred by Jack's arrival, Elizabeth's moments of peril, and the pirate attack.

Will had hated Norrington more than ever the next day, when the man who claimed to love the same woman as Will was cool and collected and seemingly uncaring. Will despised him then, despised him for the way he was indifferent to Elizabeth.

But even then, Will had not been able to hate the man for long. He had never been able to hold a grudge (one of the things that had changed about him, as Davy Jones had discovered), especially a grudge that had no base. Will let himself acknowledge that the Commodore was doing the best he could—but still, Will thought, the man was too proper, too stubborn, and not at all open-minded. Which was why Will was astounded when the Commodore let Elizabeth go, and did the same for Jack. Will remembered wondering if, the next morning, the shocking new piece of news in Port Royale would be that Commodore Norrington had killed himself. But he had not. Keeping to his word, down to the letter, he prepared his ship the day after Jack sailed away, and departed. He was gone for months, and the rumor was that he had captured Captain Sparrow, but would not return home until the wedding—Will's wedding—was over.

The next time Will had seen James, he had not recognized him. He was dirty, ragged, unshaven... he looked like a pirate, and he was taking orders from none other than Jack Sparrow. Will didn't realize who the scruffy man was until after Will, soaking wet, had kissed Elizabeth—and the man turned away with pain and bitterness in his eyes. Will had said nothing, but he was shaken—how had such a thing happened to a man like James Norrington? And it was during the sword-fight that Will realized:

"By your leave, Mr. Turner," Norrington had spat, with utter and complete hatred in his eyes. Will was amazed that the man hadn't killed him then and there—because Will realized (he didn't know how he could not have seen it before) how Norrington saw him. The man that had stolen the woman he loved. But very quickly, anger replaced pity: what right did James Norrington have to blame him? The man had always had more than Will, he had been uncaring and pompous and foolish, and he had gotten what he deserved. But with Jack's words (whose fault is it really?), the rage disappeared again, and he was facing a man who wanted to kill him, with no hatred that justified him to fight back. But he did fight back, trying—ridiculous as it was—not to hurt either of the men he was attacking. And then, only minutes later, Will saw James for the last time: offering himself up to die, so the others could escape in the longboat and live. Will remembered thinking that even in death, the man was honorable. A thought that left him as soon as everyone realized that the former Commodore had not sacrificed himself—he had sacrificed them. And Will again found hatred in his heart, when he realized that the man had all but killed Elizabeth—Elizabeth, who kissed Jack. 

Now, Will could look back and realize what everyone had been thinking (although perhaps not Jack). Elizabeth... she had not really loved Jack. Will knew that now. She loved him, and she had waited for him, and she and their son were the center of his life.

And James Norrington. In the end, he had been honorable in death. He died for Elizabeth—made the sacrifice that Will never did. And now he haunted Will, in his nightmares and in his thoughts and in his son. Will could understand why Elizabeth had named her son after Norrington, but he sometimes wished that she had continued the Turner tradition of William—or even named the boy Jack. But she had chosen James, and so a thousand times a day, Will said the name of the man he had killed.

Whose fault is it really? 

If Will could do it over again, he would do it the same. So why did he regret? James Norrington chose his death. But Will could not fight back the guilt. If, if, if...

He remembered thinking that perhaps he, as Captain of the Flying Dutchman, he could bring back the dead: Weatherby Swann, his mother, Elizabeth's mother, James Norrington. But it seemed that everyone he wished to save did not wish to be saved. Tia Dalma—Calypso—had said that if a person was at peace with his death, he could not return to life. Strangely, it gave Will no comfort to know that Norrington was at peace. The man had not deserved to die. The world had not deserved to lose him. But the Scourge, the Admiral, was dead. Will wondered if it was a relief to be free from the responsibility and pressure of being the youngest Admiral (only twenty-six years old) in the Empire, to be free from a stifling position and reputation, to be free from the fact that the woman he loved would never love him.

And it was then that it suddenly occurred to Will—had Norrington felt this guilt, too? Had he hated himself for falling to the level of a pirate, for falling to Cutler Beckett's puppet? Had he not only been at peace, but _glad_ to die?

O God, to think that the man had wanted to die... Will could not imagine feeling such desperation.

Will could not imagine feeling such desperation.

Then why, he wondered, did he let the guilt do this to him? He had seen the anxiety in Elizabeth's face when he flinched at his son's name. He saw the hurt in his son's face when he turned away from him, only to stare out at the ocean and try not to cry. Will opened his eyes, looking at his wife's sleeping face, smooth and unworried, and decided that James Norrington was dead. Whose fault is it really? No one's. No one's, Will repeated. _It is not your fault._

Will smiled.


End file.
